


Impetus

by jolene_rose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Backstory, Extramarital Affair, F/M, Romance, naive Rowena MacLeod, rated M to be safe (mild sex scene), the birth of Fergus MacLeod, young Rowena MacLeod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-03-06 22:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18860314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolene_rose/pseuds/jolene_rose
Summary: "...He's only a wee baby, she reminded herself, none of this is his fault.  She had no one to blame for her current predicament except herself, really – although it does take two.  If only she hadn't been so naive.  If she could somehow have known what would come of it she would never have accepted Roderick's kindness. ..."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In writing a backstory for Rowena I tried to stay as true to canon and to things Ruth Connell has expressed about the character in convention panels (because who would know her better?) as I possibly could. I would love for there to someday be a full, canon backstory for Rowena, but with one season to go, I don't know if we will ever get it. In the absence of that, this story is what I imagine she experienced leading up to the birth of Fergus. I hope you enjoy. -Jo

          When Rowena awoke she was alone, save for a newborn baby squalling beside her on the straw mattress, its tiny body nestled between her arm and her side. Her bleary gaze shifted around the room, trying to piece together where she was and what had happened. As the fog of unconsciousness lifted, she began to remember: this was her child, whom she had given birth to in this tiny room that her lover had rented in a boarding house. _Before he left me alone here to die!_ she thought bitterly, looking down at the large pool of blood between her legs that was slowly seeping into the canvas and straw beneath her. Just glimpsing it made her feel queasy and lightheaded again. Her vision began to blur and gray. She took a deep, shaky breath and leaned her head back against the mattress. The room slowly filtered back into focus. She turned her attention to the infant. He was wailing and writhing beside her, all red in the face. “There, there, dear thing, shh,” she soothed. She lifted a tremulous hand to his little round face and stroked his cheek with her thumb, but it did nothing to console him. “Of course,” she said aloud, realizing that while she had lain unconscious the baby was left unattended to for God knows how long, “you must be half starved!” Rowena's quivering fingers worked to unbutton the top of her dress, which she only then noticed was damp with sweat from the arduous labor. With some difficulty she turned her weakened body onto its side and lifted the baby's head into the crook of her arm beside her bare breast. He latched on eagerly. She smiled down at him as he suckled, finally content, but the more she studied his tiny face, the more she could see just how much he resembled his father. A feeling of disgust rose within her, and the desire to push him away from her grew so strong it frightened her. Rowena squeezed her eyes shut, forcing down those dreadful feelings of loathing beginning to creep in. _He's only a wee baby,_ she reminded herself, _none of this is his fault._ She had no one to blame for her current predicament except herself, really – although it does take two. If only she hadn't been so naive. If she could somehow have known what would come of it she would never have accepted Roderick's kindness.

 


	2. Chapter 2

          The day Rowena met Roderick was a pleasant mid-summer day – warm for northern Scotland, but not uncomfortably so. She had gone into town on an errand for Mrs. MacInnes. Rowena's parents and siblings had taken ill with smallpox and passed away when she was eleven. Somehow Rowena had survived – a marvel considering she was not a particularly hardy child. Small in stature, malnourished and pale, dressed in raggedy clothes, the young girl looked as if she could hardly survive a harsh Scottish winter, never mind exposure to such a devastating illness. The MacInneses had found her begging for food in the town center and had taken her in to work on their farm. Their intention was to have her as a milkmaid, but they quickly found her to be too small and frail to be of any use at farm chores. She was brought into the family home to clean and look after the children. From the time she was only a child herself, Rowena was expected to attend to the MacInneses' unruly brood and maintain the cleanliness of the house tirelessly and to their standards, or else be met with consequences. She was beaten for mistakes and for insolence (for the latter of which Rowena showed a particular talent). She frequently went hungry when times were lean and her employers felt their resources were better spent maintaining the health and vigor of the farmhands. Despite the treatment she received, Rowena had remained with the MacInneses for years, fearing that any alternative available to her would be far worse.

          Rowena had been sent out with a small sack of coins and a short list: flour, yeast, salt, a bolt of cloth for the MacInnes girls' new dresses. She had procured the items and was beginning the long walk back to the farm, struggling a bit under the weight and bulk of the packages. As she shifted the items in a vain attempt to ease the load, she heard a man's voice calling out, “Miss! Miss!” She didn't bother to look up, assuming the man was addressing someone else. Men never paid her much attention. Her small frame often caused them to assume she was younger than her nineteen years, or else they simply found her unattractive for being so thin and having such vivid red hair. Redheaded girls, after all, were liable to be witches. So it took her by surprise when a large hand gently grasped her shoulder.

          “D'ye need some help with those?” the man asked earnestly. She blinked up at him. He was a good bit older than her, somewhere between thirty and forty. His eyes were kind and she found herself thinking that he was quite handsome. He was tall and broad with a squared jaw, and wavy brown hair, dusted at the temples with silver. A naturally prideful girl (Mrs. MacInnes often told her how unbecoming a trait this was in a young lady.), Rowena's inclination was to reject his offer. But truthfully she didn't know how she would carry the packages the two and half kilometers back to the farm on her own. And he _was_ handsome.

          “If it's not too much trouble,” she answered sheepishly.

          He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “No trouble,” he replied, lifting the bag of flour and the bolt of cloth from her arms.

          As they walked along Roderick introduced himself. He was the laird of a large estate inherited from his father. He spoke freely about his distaste for high society, saying that he much preferred to escape into the town square and mingle with the common folk than to be hidden away in a creaky old manor with snobbish acquaintances. When he asked Rowena about herself she remained guarded at first, not wanting to reveal too much about her meager circumstances and attract the disdain – or worse, the pity – of this man that she had only just met. But he was so disarmingly good-natured and attractive that after his first few questions the words began to pour from her like water from an open tap. She explained to him how her family had died and she had been forced to find a way to support herself at a very young age. She told him about the MacInneses, how working for them was not comfortable, but it was manageable, and that one day she hoped to live comfortably and even luxuriously. As she went on about the lovely clothes and wonderful amenities she wished she could afford, Roderick chuckled softly at her excitement, admiring the way that her face lit up and she seemed lost in her own imagination.

          “I picture myself on a lovely upholstered chair, sipping tea from a fine china teacup,” Rowena enthused, starry-eyed, “with those little shortbread biscuits –” She glanced up, catching the amused look on Roderick's face, and awkwardly fell silent. They walked on quietly for several minutes. Her eyes trained to the gravel road, Rowena could feel Roderick looking her over as they walked. While his gaze seemed compassionate rather than lecherous, it made her self-conscious. Indeed, Rowena wondered which would have made her more uneasy – compassion or lechery. Finally, when the farm was in sight, Roderick put his hand on Rowena's arm to halt her. She turned to look at him.

          “Rowena,” he said, studying her pale, gaunt face and the way her dress hung on her thin shoulders, “when's the last time you've eaten?”

          Rowena was taken aback by the question. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Why would he ask such a thing? And why, of all things, should it make her teary? Going hungry was nothing new, and certainly nothing she couldn't handle. She found herself angry at him, and she didn't know why. She fought the impulse to lash out, to ask him how that was any of his business, anyway.

          “Day before yesterday, I suppose,” she answered honestly, trying to appear nonchalant, “there's not much to go around just now.” Unable to bare his pitying gaze she looked down, fidgeting with the parcels in her hands. A lock of hair that had slipped from the long, scarlet plait hanging down her back fell across her face. She quickly pushed it behind her ear.

          “Ye can't live like that,” he said softly, ducking his head a bit to try and meet her eyes. Rowena's jaw tensed and she raised her chin defiantly.

          “Sure I can,” she said with an air of pride, “I've survived far worse.”

          Roderick smirked a bit at her obstinance. “Meet me by the well up the road around midnight, once everyone else has gone to bed. I'd like to bring you something to eat.”

          Rowena narrowed her eyes at the offer. Setting aside her own insistence that she did not need anyone's charity, planning a midnight rendezvous with an older man seemed a dangerous – or at the very least unseemly – proposition. As she mulled it over her stomach churned and her head swam a bit, reminding her how hungry she really was. On the other hand, his intentions seemed to be pure. He was only concerned about her well-being. And he _was_ such a benevolent – and good-looking – gentleman. She supposed there would be no harm in one little meeting by a public well.

          “Alright, I will,” she told him with a slight nod of her head.

          Roderick smiled. He offered to walk her the rest of the way, but Rowena declined. Turning up at the house with a strange man would surely earn her a beating from Mr. MacInnes, who felt it his duty to instill a sense of morality in the young woman – with his belt if necessary. So Roderick handed back the two larger packages and sent her on her way. Even with the heavy burden replaced in her arms, Rowena stepped a bit lighter, her heart fluttering in anticipation of returning to Roderick's affable company that night.

 


	3. Chapter 3

          Rowena stared at the ceiling and pondered whether one could actually die from anticipation as she waited for midnight. In her small servant's quarters beside the kitchen she had lain down on her mattress fully clothed and pulled the blanket up to her chin, so that if anyone happened to look in on her they wouldn't suspect her plan to sneak away. After what felt to her like an eternity, but was likely only an hour or so, the muffled voices and shuffling footsteps that had been coming from upstairs quieted. She waited a bit longer, until she could hear Mr. MacInnes's snoring emanating from the master bedroom. Only then was she satisfied that it was safe to venture out of her room. She wrapped a light shawl around her shoulders and slipped into her shoes. As she crept through the kitchen to the back door she glanced at the clock on the wall. In the moonlight she could just make out the time: eleven forty-four. She would just make it to the well by midnight. She slipped outside and around the house toward the main road, giving one last look at the farm to make sure she hadn't been noticed. Seeing no movement or candle flames in the windows, she set off into the night.

          When Rowena reached their meeting place Roderick was already there, a lantern in one hand and a basket draped with a tartan cloth in the other. Beside him a powerful-looking horse was tied to the hitching post at the well. “I wasn't sure you would come,” Roderick said as she approached him.

          “Neither was I,” she replied, nervously glancing over her shoulder down the moonlit road. When she turned back to him he smiled warmly at her and she blushed a bit and worried her shawl between her fingers.

          “Oh, eh, here,” he said quickly, suddenly remembering that she must be tired and a bit weak, “have a seat.” He set down the basket and the lantern, took off his jacket and laid it over a large rock nearby for her to sit on. He then sat beside her, placing the basket on his lap and lifting the cloth so she could see the contents. “I've brought you some fresh bread, a bit of cheese, blood pudding, an apple, and –” he pulled out a glass carafe with a cork stopper “—a bit of wine.” Rowena admired how the red liquid glinted in the glow of the lantern and a bit of a thrill ran through her. She had only ever had sips of communion wine when she attended Sunday Mass with the MacInneses; she had never consumed it for its own sake before. “Well?” he asked.

          She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I... I dinnae what to say... this is much too generous.”

          “Nonsense,” Roderick said, handing her a piece of bread and some cheese, “I have plenty, and you, you're nothing but skin and bones, you need this!” Rowena took a small bite of the bread and looked away, embarrassed by his appraisal of her body. Roderick realized what he had said and tried to explain, “No, I – I didn't mean to offend you, it's only... it makes me sick the way they neglect you – letting you go hungry for days at a time. Not even animals should be treated that way, and certainly not a beautiful young woman, one who has gone through such trauma already. It must have been agony, watching your loved ones suffer.”

          At the mention of her family Rowena could not maintain her strong facade. Try as she did to prevent it, a tear slipped down the side of her slender nose, and once one had spilled forth the rest followed and she wept quietly beside Roderick. He wrapped one arm gently but firmly around her quivering shoulders. Rowena was ashamed to be brought to tears so easily, but Roderick's acknowledgment of her pain had cracked through a wall she had built up in her mind years ago around her loss. In his supportive presence she felt safe enough to allow herself to grieve. When the tears finally stopped and her breathing began to calm he tenderly lifted her chin. “Rowena,” he said, looking into her green eyes, rimmed red and watery, “you are a beautiful young woman who has gotten along remarkably on her own through incredibly trying circumstances. But even the strongest ships need a safe harbor – someplace they can rest and be restored when they are too weary to go on. You needn't sail on alone any longer. I promise I will take care of you.” In her fragile state, that was all it took for Rowena to trust him. They ate and drank and talked together, and before they parted company, Roderick placed a chaste kiss on her hand. As she walked back to the farmhouse Rowena felt hopeful and protected, a sense of peace settling over her that she hadn't experienced in years.

 

          Rowena and Roderick met at the same time and place every few days from that first night forward. As the weeks progressed to a month, Rowena grew stronger and the pallor of her skin warmed to a rosier hue. Though still thin and petite, she no longer appeared frail, and Roderick couldn't help but notice as her body took on a healthier, more feminine shape than when they had first met. In addition to her own physical transformation, Rowena's relationship with Roderick evolved. They had become good friends and Rowena no longer had any qualms about spending time alone with him, though she still kept it a secret from the MacInneses, and continued to meet him in the night so as not to attract the attention of nosy townsfolk.

          On their ninth meeting Roderick gave her a small glass of malt whiskey and untied the ribbon from her plait, carefully unbraiding and running his fingers through her long red hair. At first the intimacy of the action caused Rowena to tense. Roderick had never presumed to be anything more than a friend, and this felt like something akin to romance, which she wasn't sure she was prepared for. But the softness of his touch and the warmth of the whiskey spreading through her felt so good that she soon sank into the sensation and leaned her head against his shoulder, letting her eyes drift closed.

          On their twelfth meeting Roderick asked to kiss her. Rowena had never been kissed before, but by then she was so enamored with him that she leaned toward him almost subconsciously. She allowed his large hand to cup her cheek and gently guide her through the kiss. When they separated Roderick told her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and that on their next meeting he would have a special surprise for her.

 


	4. Chapter 4

          Rowena sat on the rock beside the well as Roderick rode up on his horse. “Quickly!” he said, excitement bubbling in his voice, “climb up!”

          “Wh-what...?”

          “I told you I would have a surprise for you – it can't wait long,” he said, dismounting and taking her hand, pulling Rowena to her feet so swiftly in his eagerness that she stumbled against him.

          “Alright, alright!” she laughed. Roderick boosted her up onto his horse before climbing up and seating himself in front of her. Rowena wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his back as they rode off.

          They soon reached a cobblestone road leading up to a sprawling manor on a hill. Even in the dim moonlight Rowena could tell it was a beautiful home, far nicer than anyplace she had ever lived. The MacInneses' farm – and before that the small living quarters beside her father's tannery – had always been damp and squalid, smelling of filth and livestock. The essence of sickness and death seemed to cling to her still, just as it had when she'd helplessly watched her younger brothers and sister, and then her parents, die covered in sores and delirious with fever. She had hurried frantically from bed to bed – bringing them cool, damp washrags, water, whatever food she'd been able to scrounge up – desperately trying to keep them alive. It had all been for naught. They had been carted away to be dumped in a mass grave outside the village. The body collectors had attempted to speak to her, but Rowena was too much in shock to respond. She sat mute on a stool, staring at nothing, while the men worked around her, her tear-stained face bearing an utterly broken expression. Eventually, they gave up trying to reach her. Not knowing what else to do with a child they presumed insane with grief, they finished their work and closed the door behind them, leaving the pale, scared little girl trembling in a dark corner of what had been her family's home. Rowena shuddered at the memory and gripped more tightly onto Roderick's sturdy form, burying her face into the back of his riding jacket.

          As the horse trotted steadily up the road, Rowena grew more and more uneasy about the prospect of walking into such a grand house in her dingy, ill-fitting dress and work-worn shoes.

          “Roderick!” she whispered urgently as he hopped down to tie up the horse for the stable boy to tend to, “you can't bring me in there! I don't belong in such an elegant place – I'll be cast out!”

          “Well, I don't see how that could happen,” he replied, helping her down off the horse. He met her skeptical look with a chuckle. “Rowena, this is _my_ home. I told you I owned a large estate,” he said, his hand outstretched, indicating the property on which they now stood. “You are my guest. No one is going to turn you away. And besides, there's no one else around just now, save for Angus,” he said, gesturing toward a boy about Rowena's age off at a distance working in the stable, “and he won't give you any trouble.” Rowena nodded absently, looking slightly bewildered as she took in the expansive property. “Well, come on, then,” Roderick said, taking her hand, “I can't wait for you to see what I've prepared for you!”

          He led Rowena down a series of corridors and finally into a sizable room. As Roderick lit the candles in the wall sconces, Rowena looked around at the opulent furnishings. On one side of the room was a four-poster bed and a wardrobe, on another a washbasin and vanity, all ornately carved and detailed. An impressive painting depicting the rolling hills of the Scottish countryside took up the majority of one wall, while the opposite wall was a bank of windows – long curtains that reached the floor drawn in front of them. In the center of the room was a large iron-lined wooden tub, filled with water. On a wooden board balanced across the tub sat various soaps, a brush, and a pitcher. Roderick walked to the tub and dipped his hand in the water. “Good, still warm,” he said, “I had my servants draw it up before they went to bed. I was afraid it would have turned cold by the time we arrived.” He turned to Rowena. “Well?” he asked expectantly.

          “Well...?”

          “What do you think of your surprise? I can't imagine you've had a proper bath on that wretched farm.”

          “Oh!” she said. She certainly was surprised, she could grant him that. “I, eh...”

          “I'm sorry if this is a bit presumptuous,” he said, looking at his feet, “It's just, you spoke about the comforts you long for – I thought you might find it … luxurious, relaxing.” He paused for a beat, and then, “I've bought some fine soaps for you – come from London,” he picked up one of the bars of soap and nervously placed it in her hand. It was smooth to the touch and smelled of roses, much more pleasant than the harsh lye soap the MacInneses had provided her to wash with. The uncertainty etched across Rowena's face softened. Though a bit odd, it was a sweet gesture.

          She smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said, “it's lovely.”

          He lit up like a child at her approval, then caught himself and cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, shuffling awkwardly, “I.. I'll leave you to it,” and he hurried out the door and shut it behind him.

          Rowena laughed to herself and shook her head. It was endearing – and gave her a bit of a thrill – to see him so flustered on her account. She walked up to the tub and gently dragged her hand through the water. It was comfortably warm. It seemed so inviting. She glanced around the room cautiously, as if expecting someone to be watching from the shadows, before ridding herself of her shabby clothing and climbing into the tub. She carefully lowered herself into the water. It felt like heaven, its warmth enveloping her weary body. She gently scrubbed at her fair skin with the flowery soap, as well as lathering it into her hair. As she rinsed away the soapsuds she felt the lingering presence of pestilence finally leaving her. Survivor's guilt, the haunting memories – all of the tension held within her form was soothed away by the warm water. She felt weightless, and she sat perfectly still and closed her eyes, just basking in the sensation. Finally she decided it would be rude to keep Roderick waiting any longer and stepped out of the tub. She dried herself with a linen towel that had been left draped over the back of a chair for her. She traced her fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, and along her collarbone. Her skin felt so soft and smooth and it shone in the candlelight – ivory sprinkled delicately with freckles. She had never felt more luxurious. A silk dressing gown had been laid out beside the towel and she picked it up and wrapped it around herself, appreciating the sensual feel of the fine material shifting against her skin. Something about it made her feel a bit bold.  Rowena spotted a wooden-handled hairbrush on the vanity and picked it up.  She opened the bedroom door and poked her head out. Roderick was seated on an upholstered chair in the hallway, waiting patiently for her.

 

          “Roderick,” she called to him quietly, “would you help me brush my hair?” He turned to look at her and she gave him a smile that bordered on flirtatious.  He smiled back at her.

          “Of course,” he replied.

 

          Roderick sat behind her on the bed, gently working the brush through her long crimson tresses. Rowena still wore only the dressing gown, not wanting to put her grimy street clothes on over her freshly bathed body. Once he had worked out any knots, Roderick gave her hair some final smooth strokes with the brush. Rowena hummed contentedly and leaned back against him. Roderick took this as an invitation and brushed her wet hair aside with his hand, placing two soft kisses on the nape of her neck. Rowena didn't object. He pulled the collar of the dressing gown just barely off of her shoulder and pressed a kiss there, too.

          “Rowena,” he whispered against her skin, “I believe” – he paused for another kiss – “I've fallen in love with you.”

          She shifted to face him. “Have you really?” she asked quietly, delicately running her fingers through his chestnut hair. There was a cautious hopefulness in her eyes of someone who had only ever dreamed of being the object of another's affection.

          “Aye, I truly have,” he said, staring intently into her deep green eyes. He cradled the back of her head in his hand and lightly kissed her lips. She returned the kiss more forcefully, feeling a longing for him pulling at her, and he matched her intensity. “Rowena,” he said when they finally separated, slightly breathless. He took her small hands in his. “I want to show you how much I love you, if you will allow me...” Rowena met his eyes, discerning his meaning. Her heart fluttered, a mix of fear and excitement washing over her.

          “I will,” she whispered.

          Roderick slid the silk gown from her shoulders, running his hands down her back. His fingers roamed over her smooth skin with a delicate touch. Rowena's eyes fell shut and a soft moan drifted from her lips. She knew that if anyone discovered she had been with a man in this way they would heartily disapprove. Mr. MacInnes would surely beat her if he ever found out, and the townspeople would gossip about her incessantly. But she didn't care. The caress of his hands on her skin made her feel like she was floating, warm and safe – as she was in the bath; as she had when Roderick had given her whiskey and stroked his fingers through her hair. She didn't want it to end. When Roderick's thumbs grazed over her nipples, Rowena gasped sharply, her eyes flying open. The shock of pleasure that jolted through her was new and different, but it was wonderful. He eased her down to the mattress and laid a trail of kisses between her breasts and down her abdomen. Rowena felt her whole body flush with heat, the rose scent of the soap rising from her skin. Then Roderick's fingers slipped between Rowena's thighs and a small, concerned squeak escaped from her throat.

          “Don't worry, my love,” he said tenderly, “I promise I'll be gentle. You trust me, don't you?”

          “Yes,” Rowena breathed. She let her body relax, closing her eyes again to take in the sensations he was causing within her. She gave herself over to him completely.

 


	5. Chapter 5

          Rowena woke to the sun just barely lighting the long drapes over Roderick's bedroom windows. She was still naked, nestled contentedly against Roderick's side, her head resting on his bare chest. In her languid bliss it took Rowena several moments to remember that she needed to return to the farm before the MacInneses noticed her absence. When the realization struck her she sat up in a panic, jostling Roderick, who had been sleeping peacefully with his arm wrapped around her. He groaned.

          “Roderick!” He groaned again and rolled away from her, onto his side. “Roderick!” she repeated, shaking him.

          “Wha-what? What is it?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

          “I need to get back!” Rowena was standing beside the bed now, attempting to smooth her tousled hair.

          He turned and gazed at her sleepily for a moment, one corner of his mouth sliding upward as he admired her naked form in the growing daylight. Then his eyes suddenly widened. “Right!” he exclaimed, finally processing what she had said. He jumped out of bed, now wide awake, and they hurriedly dressed and ran to the stable.

          Roderick left Rowena off a little up the road from the farm, just as the MacInneses were beginning to wake. Rowena crept up the side of the property, stopping at the hen house and gathering some eggs into the apron of her dress – a suitable explanation as to why she had been out of the house so early. As she stepped into the kitchen, Rowena wished Mrs. MacInnes a cheerful good morning and deposited the eggs she had collected into a wire basket hanging from a nail on the wall. Rowena's unusually sunny demeanor caused Mrs. MacInnes to look after her curiously, but if the older woman had any suspicions she didn't reveal them.

 

          A few days later Rowena was in town on an errand for the MacInneses. She walked the muddy streets with a bounce in her step, happily daydreaming about meeting Roderick that night. From the corner of her eye she observed a tall, broad-shouldered man exiting a tailor's shop. She turned to see Roderick standing there, propping the door with his elbow, a garment box in his hands. As Rowena considered how she could discreetly greet him, an elegant-looking woman and two little girls, somewhere between five and ten years old, came through the door beside him. Rowena assumed Roderick was simply being gentlemanly, until the woman wrapped the delicate fingers of one hand around Roderick's bicep and called to the children, gathering them to walk close to her rustling skirts. They were together. Roderick, it would seem, had a wife and two young daughters.

 

          When Rowena met Roderick at the well that night she was incensed. She was so upset, in fact, that she'd nearly gotten herself caught as she sneaked out of the house. Distracted by her plans to interrogate him about what she had seen, she had knocked over an empty milk pail balanced precariously on the stone hearth, causing it to clang against the floor. Rowena froze, her stomach clenching in terror, but somehow the other occupants of the house did not wake. The only sound she heard from upstairs was Mr. MacInnes snoring peacefully.

          She had made her way to the meeting spot, and then, unable to sit still, placed the lantern she carried on the edge of the well and paced back and forth along the dirt road until Roderick and his horse came into view.

          “Rowena? Dear?” he asked cautiously, climbing down from the horse, “Something the matter?” Roderick could feel the anger radiating off of her, though he did not yet know its cause. Rowena fixed him with a glare.

          “I saw them today,” she said simply.

          “Saw whom?”

          “Yer _family_.” Roderick stared at her, dumbfounded. “Yer wife, and two little girls – all beautiful, by the by.”

          “You were in town today,” he said, piecing it together.

          “Yer committing adult'ry – with me! And I di'nt even know!” Her accent had grown thicker in her crossness. Roderick opened his mouth as if to say something but found no words.

          “Where were they that night?” she shouted, “Were they there, at the manor? When ye made love to me – in yer _family's_ home – were they there, somewhere? Asleep, unawares, jus' down another corridor?! Does that excite ye?!”

          “No – no!” he said, trying to lay his hand on her arm, but she turned away from him. “They were visiting her relatives out of town; they've only just returned.”

          “' _Her_ ' –” she scoffed. She whipped around to face him. Her hair, long and loose, flickered around her shoulders like flames in the lantern light, “yer wife! Say she's yer wife! Admit yer a married man and ye've only been usin' me t– ”

          “No! Rowena, that's not true!” Roderick interjected, grabbing her by her upper arms rather roughly. “Yes, I am married, but I'm not just using you! I love you, Rowena! Marta and I, we've been together a long time. We married young – too young. I've realized I don't love her anymore. I haven't for some time now.” He paused, and his eyes went soft and dreamy as he looked at her. His firm grip on her loosened, although he did not release her. “And then I met you, and my heart felt fuller than it has in a long time – perhaps ever! I've been planning for weeks now to leave Marta and marry you – I just have to work out how to do it.”

          Rowena had stopped shouting at him, but remained unconvinced. She yanked free of his grasp and folded her arms in front of her. “S'what's keepin' ye?”

          “In order to obtain a divorce, I need to prove that _Marta_ has been unfaithful to _me_ ,” he explained, “and, to my knowledge... she hasn't been.” Rowena shifted her jaw impatiently. “Please don't be upset with me,” he implored her, warily coming close and reaching out for a strand of red hair, twirling it around his finger. “I'm working on it. I'll think of something – I just need more time and I promise, we'll be together – no more meeting in secret.”

          In spite of herself, Rowena felt her anger slowly dissipating. Something inside her told her this would not end well, that she should walk away from this man, but she wanted to be with him so terribly that she pushed aside the cautionary voice in hopes that it was mistaken. She begrudgingly let Roderick wrap her up in his arms.

          “I'm sorry, mo gràdh,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “I should have told you. You should never have had to find out this way.” He held her to him, swaying gently with her beside the empty road as if they were dancing to the sound of the wind through the trees. Eventually she warmed to him, raising her arms from where she had dropped them stiffly by her sides to wrap around his waist, and they spent the wee hours together as if nothing had changed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Gaelic phrase "mo gradh" (pronounced "moi rah") translates to "my love." Also, yes, I actually researched 17th century Scottish divorce law. My search history has gotten real weird as I've been writing this story...
> 
> ... On a related note, did you know there are no crickets in northern Scotland, and the ones they do have in southern Scotland don't chirp like American crickets, but instead make a godawful rattling noise? 'Cause I didn't, and I almost wrote chirping crickets into the last scene. This is why you fact check when writing historical fiction set in a country you've never been to.


	6. Chapter 6

          Having overcome the shock of discovering Roderick's family, Rowena once again delighted in her secret romance. There were nights when Roderick was able to bring her to the manor and give her a taste of the lavish lifestyle that awaited her when she became his wife. On nights when his family was in town and that was not possible, they took advantage of the still-warm late-summer nights and made love on a blanket in a clearing by the well. Rowena wasn't sure which she preferred: the comfort of the four-poster bed, or gazing up at the stars, clinging to Roderick as he moved within her.

          Rowena believed that her life was finally changing for the better, progressing toward the fantasy of opulence and contentment she had dreamed up as a lowborn tanner's daughter. That is, until one morning, when she awoke terribly ill. Rising quickly from her bed she knelt down and vomited into the chamber pot. Mrs. MacInnes, who was preparing breakfast in the kitchen, heard the commotion and opened the door to check on her. “I'm sorry,” Rowena said, gasping for breath, still bent over the pot on the floor, “I'll clean it.” Mrs. MacInnes nodded and returned to her work, closing the door behind her. Opening and shutting the door had wafted the smell of fried eggs into the room, and Rowena gagged. She took in a deep breath through her nose, trying to calm her stomach, but the nausea won over and she wretched violently into the chamber pot again. She remained on the floor for a few moments, bracing her hands against the wooden boards, until she was able to stand on wobbly legs and wash up for the day.

          When Rowena emerged from her chambers, clammy and pale, the MacInneses quickly determined she was sick with bilious fever. It was nearly autumn, after all, and the change of seasons often brought on all kinds of illnesses, to which a girl of such poor stock as Rowena was highly susceptible. Rowena accepted this explanation, despite a niggling doubt in the back of her mind. They lessened her duties to allow her to rest.

          One week, and then another and another passed, and Rowena continued to feel ill, but with only minor fatigue along with the nausea and none of the elevated temperature one would expect with bilious fever. Rowena could no longer accept the MacInneses' diagnosis. She had seen Mrs. MacInnes suffer these symptoms too many times. Rowena did her best to hide her discomfort and resume her usual work. She was able to fool the MacInneses into believing she had recovered and that everything was back to normal, but inside she was terrified and dreading the conversation she would inevitably need to have with Roderick.

          Nearly two months had passed from the time Rowena had begun to feel ill when she finally gathered the courage to broach the subject with Roderick. She stood beside the well, nervously fidgeting with her hands as his horse trotted up the road.

          “Darling!” he smiled broadly at her, setting his lantern on the edge of the well and cupping her face in his hands, “You look exceptionally lovely tonight,” he said sincerely, before kissing her lips. And she did; she was feeling much better and the color that had been drained from her face for weeks had begun to return. He gazed upon her lovingly, and she tried to smile at his compliment, but he saw through her effort. His pleased expression dissolved into a frown. “Something's the matter.” It was a statement, rather than a question.

          “Roderick,” Rowena began, pulling away from him slightly, “we need to talk.” She sat on the rock by the well and waited for him to join her before she continued.

          “What is it, dear?” he asked with genuine concern.

          “I... I've been ill recently...” She decided to begin with what he already knew.

          “Yes, bilious fever, poor lamb – but you've recovered nicely. You've a healthy glow about you now.”

          She sighed, trying to choose her words carefully. “I... I don't think it was a fever.” She waited for Roderick to grasp her meaning, but he only looked at her blankly. Rowena supposed she would have to be direct. “I think I may be pregnant.” She braced for his reaction.

          Surprise washed over Roderick's face and he leaned back slightly, looking her over. “No –” he said in disbelief, “no, you must be mistaken. It was just an illness, you can't be...” he trailed off, reaching a hand out and laying it against the curve of her waist and running his thumb carefully over her still-flat stomach.

          “Roderick,” she said gently, trying to ease him into the idea that had lingered at the back of her mind for months, “I've been with the MacInneses through five births and a miscarriage. I know what this is.”

          “No, you've just been sick! You're a wee thing, it's just taken you a while to get over –”

          “Roderick,” Rowena cut in sternly, “I haven't had the courses since before it began.”

          Roderick's eyes widened and he fell silent. “Oh,” he paused and his brow furrowed, “what are we to do?”

          Rowena had been thinking about that a lot and she had an answer for him. “For now, we needn't do anything. No one can tell as yet, and the weather is getting colder – I can probably hide it under layers of skirts for a few more months. By then we will have come to a solution. Perhaps your divorce will have come through..?” she asked hopefully, “and then we could leave here and go somewhere where no one knows us and we can raise our baby together.” The plan was a bit fantastical, and demonstrated Rowena's complete lack of knowledge of the court system, but somehow it soothed Roderick's frayed nerves – for the time being, anyway.

          “Alright,” he replied, brushing Rowena's hair back from her face affectionately, “We have time. We'll figure this out.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The courses" is an old-timey euphemism for menstruation that was used during this era. Again, I have a very weird search history from researching for this story.


	7. Chapter 7

          Rowena was able to conceal her pregnancy under layers of clothing for quite some time, but by the end of the fifth month she could tell Mrs. MacInnes was growing suspicious. One day while Rowena was dressing, the matron burst into her quarters. It would seem that her intention was to catch Rowena in the nude, as she didn't knock or even hesitate before throwing the door open. Mrs. MacInnes's eyes dropped to the girl's swollen abdomen and her mouth fell open in mortification as Rowena scrambled to cover herself, bracing to be shouted at or beaten, or worse. But Mrs. MacInnes simply gathered herself and took a steadying breath. As Rowena gaped at her in horror, she said in a tightly controlled manner, “Get yourself dressed, and get out of my house.”

           “Missus – ” Rowena started.

          “NOW!” Mrs. MacInnes barked, and slammed the door.

          Rowena quickly finished dressing, packed up her meager belongings, and left the farm for the last time. With nowhere else to go she went into town and wandered aimlessly for hours, stopping from time to time to rest and warm herself in a shop or a tavern. When evening fell and the shops closed down and the taverns grew rowdy, Rowena went to the well where Roderick would be meeting her that night. He wasn't scheduled to arrive there for some time, but she was too exhausted to walk any longer.

          When Roderick came upon her she was shivering from the cold, wrapped in a heavy shawl and a worn knitted blanket. “Rowena!” He jumped down from his horse, his feet crunching through a light coating of snow on the ground as he rushed to her. He removed his wool coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. “What happened?! How long have you been out here?!”

          “I... I don't...” Her teeth chattered. “Mrs. MacInnes knows...” she trailed off, resting her hand lightly on her stomach, “I'm no longer welcome in her home,” Rowena pulled the coat tightly around her trembling body.

          Roderick nodded. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.” He paused, thinking. “Come,” he said, “we need to find you a warm place to stay. You'll catch your death of cold out here.” He helped her to her feet and up onto his horse. They rode into town until they came to a boarding house. The house was quiet and dark, due to the late hour, but Roderick rang the bell that hung by the front door anyway. After a few moments the landlord came to the door, a stout man with receding gray hair, looking none too pleased at being awoken in the middle of the night. He glared at Roderick, and Rowena, who was still seated on the horse's back, until Roderick began to speak.

          “I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour,” Roderick began, “but you see, I was returning to my estate, after meeting some business associates in Dornoch, when I came upon this young woman. She's with child, without a husband to speak of, and has been thrown out of the house by her family because of it. She'll die out here in the cold. I knew when I saw her that the only right thing – the only _Christian_ thing – to do was to procure her a warm place to stay. Would you provide her a room? Please? I'll pay you however much you need to keep her, at least until her baby is born. And I'll come and look in on her from time to time – she'll be no bother to you.” The man looked from Roderick to Rowena with the same deep frown he had worn to greet them, but his eyes had softened.

          “Aye,” he said, sounding somewhat reluctant, “we've an open room, bring her inside.”

          “Thank you, sir,” Roderick said gratefully. He helped Rowena down from the horse and carried her small bag into the boarding house for her. Roderick's lie – hearing him avoid claiming her child as his own, and do so with such ease – stung Rowena, but she realized it was the only way to gain her shelter. No one would knowingly board a laird's pregnant mistress for fear of the gossip and infamy such a gesture would bring with it. It was best that everyone believed Roderick was just a wealthy good Samaritan, taking pity on a poor, misguided peasant girl with nowhere else to turn.

          The room was small and bare – a bed with a straw mattress, a wash stand, and a trunk being the only furniture. A small fireplace was set into the wall on one side of the room and Roderick began building up a fire inside it as soon as they arrived. Rowena was seated on the bed, silently watching him work. Just as he had stoked up a healthy flame, there was a light knocking on the door frame. Rowena and Roderick turned to see an older woman, presumably the landlord's wife, standing timidly in the open doorway with a tin tray in her hands.

          “I was fixing some chamomile tea,” she said, stepping into the room, “I thought you might like some. Help to warm you up.” She set the tea tray down on top of the trunk. On it were two cups of tea, a small dish of sugar cubes, and a creamer.

          “Thank you,” Rowena said softly, still shivering a bit, even in the warm house and wearing Roderick's coat and her shawl and blanket. The woman watched as Roderick removed the heavy layers from Rowena's shoulders and guided her to sit beside the fire. The harsh shadows cast by the firelight accentuated the curve of her pregnant belly. When Roderick went to thank the landlord's wife and retrieve a cup of tea for Rowena, the woman placed a hand on Roderick's arm and squeezed gently.

           “Bless you,” she said quietly, and left.

 


	8. Chapter 8

          The ensuing months passed in a dull rhythm for Rowena. She kept to herself, only interacting with the landlord and his wife enough to be pleasant, and never leaving the boarding house on her own. Every few days or so, Roderick would stop in, ensuring she was in good health and well-fed, and paying for her room and board. Sometimes his visits would be nothing more than that, and when he would leave Rowena would weep for feeling so isolated and forgotten. Other times, he would stay and talk with her for hours, speculating on the sex of their baby and whether it might have her moss green eyes and his chestnut hair, or eyes the color of coffee with milk like its father and brilliant red hair from mum. Once the weather was a bit warmer he brought a carriage with him (Rowena was far too heavily pregnant to be climbing onto the back of a horse) and drove them out into the open country, away from prying eyes and judgmental tongues, for some much needed peace and fresh air. These were the days that Rowena cherished and replayed in memory at those times when she sat alone in her tiny rented room. It was in those serene early spring afternoons that she could truly believe the promises Roderick made about leaving his wife to devote himself to her and their child. Out in the airy fields with him that all seemed possible, while closed within the walls of the boarding house Rowena had to willfully fight back the knowledge that the future he had promised her might never be.

          It was while readying herself for one of these lovely afternoon outings that Rowena started to feel uncomfortable twinges in her abdomen. At first she dismissed them. Everything about her body was unusual the last few months. Her once slightly sunken belly now protruded ridiculously from her slim frame, giving her the appearance that she was smuggling a large head of cabbage beneath her dress. She would often feel her baby moving about, the wriggling and shifting sensations occasionally punctuated by a sharp kick. “Och!” she would chide her unborn child playfully, “Settle down, now!” But as the sudden, brief pains persisted throughout the morning, it became clear to Rowena that these were not coltish baby kicks, but the early stages of labor.

 

          Rowena was paralyzed with fear. What had been a far-off eventuality for all those months was now imminent. Within hours her baby would be born, and she was realizing far too late that she was unprepared. For as much of her young life as she had spent caring for children, the MacInneses had never allowed her to be present for the actual births. She had only heard the pained screams of Mrs. MacInnes as she labored behind a closed door. Now those wailing cries echoed back in her mind, accompanied by the clenching pain in her abdomen. Rowena would soon be experiencing the agonizing miracle of childbirth, but unlike Mrs. MacInnes, who had always been aided by her doting husband and a midwife, Rowena was alone. She didn't dare alert the landlord and his wife – Roderick had promised them when he first secured her room that she would never be any bother to them. To request their help now would be a breach of that contract. And she had no other connections to speak of – no living family, no friends. The only semblance of a family that she had known in the last eight years had entirely disowned her when they discovered her shameful secret. She had no one in the this world but Roderick, and though he was due to visit her, there was no telling whether he would get there in time. Rowena had never been a terribly religious person (What kind of god would allow so many people to suffer and perish? Certainly not one she had any interest in worshiping), but in the intense fear that came over her as the contractions grew stronger, Rowena unsteadily sank to her knees and prayed to God that Roderick would arrive before the birth, that she wouldn't have to be alone.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

           When he finally arrived at her door, Rowena could barely hear Roderick's knock over the anxious pounding of her own heart. Still huddled on the floor following her sudden call to faith, Rowena began to carefully raise herself as she shouted to him, “Come in!” in a voice so strained she barely recognized it as her own. When Roderick entered and saw her struggling to hoist herself onto the bed he hurried to her and carefully scooped her up. Even with the added weight of the baby he lifted her easily and deposited her on the straw mattress.

          “Rowena – are you well?! What's happening?!”

          “It's time,” she told him breathlessly, “the baby's coming!”

          Roderick's eyes darted over Rowena's body in a panic. His wife had delivered two children, sure, but Roderick had never been directly involved in the process. Fetching a midwife, however, would be too risky. Midwives liked to gossip – or worse – report suspected adultery to the church authorities. He would be publicly humiliated if found guilty – forced to sit on the 'stool of repentance' before the entire congregation every Sunday for six months. His wife would likely annul their marriage – taking with her their children and a hefty portion of his accumulated wealth – and his life as he knew it would be decimated. No, he couldn't take the chance.

 

          With this resolve, Roderick took to performing the delivery himself. He helped Rowena position herself for the birth in the same way he had seen his wife arranged for the births of their children. He tried to be gentle, but his motions were a bit harsh and jarring in his haste. He compensated by murmuring soothing words to her. By now Rowena was crying out quite loudly from the pain, and his words were as much to hush her as to comfort her. Roderick lifted Rowena's skirts and was aghast at what he saw: the rounded top of a wet, matted head of hair was just visible between Rowena's parted thighs. She had not been exaggerating. The baby was coming, and Rowena's desperate prayer had been answered; Roderick had arrived with only minutes to spare before his child would be born.

          Rowena was overwhelmed by the need to push as the contractions eased her baby out toward the open air. As the infant's head began to emerge, Roderick gently cradled it in his hand. To be this instrumental in the birth of his child was terrifying and awe-inspiring all at once. He praised the perseverance of the young mother as he did his best to manage the tiny body slowly sliding into his hands. When he was finally able to hold the newborn in his arms, Roderick felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He stared down into the red, wrinkled little face as he cleaned the crying baby over the washbasin, dried its wriggling body and wrapped it in linen, and gently fluffed the fine wisps of copper hair on top of its head. The gentle touch seemed to settle the infant, and the crying faded away. Roderick walked over to where Rowena was lying.

          “We have ourselves a boy,” he said quietly, lowering the newborn and resting him against Rowena's chest. Rowena had no words; she stared in wonder at the tiny creature nestled against her, her hand coming up to stroke his downy hair. A tear slipped down her fair cheek.

          Roderick leaned down and kissed the top of Rowena's head.

          “I love you,” he whispered against her temple.

 

           The couple admired their son, basking in the joy of welcoming a new life. All thoughts of the difficulties that loomed ahead of them were set aside as they remarked on his various features and petted and kissed his soft skin. But amidst the quiet bliss of the occasion, Roderick began to notice that something was not quite right with Rowena. Her skin looked somehow paler than it had before and her eyes had taken on a glassy quality. She began to slump down in the bed, struggling to support the baby as her body grew weaker. Roderick lifted the child into one arm and laid the back of the opposite hand against Rowena's cheek. Her skin was cool and clammy.

          “Rowena – Rowena!” Roderick lowered his fingers to her pulse point and felt her heart rate – weak and rapid – fluttering wildly beneath her skin. She tried to speak to him, but couldn't catch her breath. Searching for a cause for his lover's deteriorating condition, Roderick threw back the blanket covering her legs. It was then that he saw that the small puddle of fluid beneath her had turned into a large, dark pool of blood that seemed to grow by the moment. Roderick's heart leapt into his throat. Rowena was bleeding to death.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note from my research: yes, the 'stool of repentance' was an actual thing used as punishment for adultery in Rowena's time. It sounds like basically a time-out chair for misbehaving adults. The Church of Scotland was weird...
> 
> Also, our omniscient narrator has hopped into Roderick's head for this and the next chapter, but don't worry, we'll be back in Rowena's brain soon enough!


	10. Chapter 10

         Roderick clutched his infant son to his chest, unable to move, unsure of what to do. Rowena was fading away fast, her eyes slipping closed for long moments before blinking open again as she fought to remain conscious. There was nothing Roderick could do for her. He didn't know how to stop the bleeding, and he couldn't possibly go for a doctor. A doctor would ask why there was no midwife in attendance for the birth and that line of questioning would only lead to trouble. It was then that Roderick's rational brain provided a cold, pragmatic solution to the problem. Rowena MacLeod was dying. And if Rowena MacLeod was fated to die, who was he to intervene? No one had seen him enter the boarding house, and no one would have to see him leave. He could slip away, return to his beautiful wife and his grand, sweeping estate, and by the time anyone discovered Rowena she would already be dead. There would be no one left alive who could reveal his secret. Of course, he would have to leave his son behind, and this gave him pause. But he had two beautiful daughters at home with his gorgeous, well-bred wife. He had a life that anyone would envy, with all the comforts that came with wealth and power. Was one red-headed bastard worth giving up all of that? Hardly.

          He laid the baby on the mattress, snug against his mother's side, and draped her limp arm over the small, wriggling body. Rowena gazed up at him through bleary eyes, barely able to make out his face.

          “I'm sorry, mo gràdh,” he whispered, “this is the way it has to be.” He pressed a kiss to her cold, damp forehead, took one last look at his son, and left.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished! After over a year of pondering and writing, I've finally completed my Rowena backstory!

_He's only a wee baby,_ she reminded herself, _none of this is his fault._ Rowena had awoken to the presence of this tiny creature and the knowledge that her beloved Roderick had abandoned her, leaving her in the cruel hands of Fate while he returned to his grand wife and his grand house, blissfully free of the consequences of their intimacy. As the infant nursed, Rowena felt a sickening feeling wash over her. She was disgusted – with Roderick's deceit and selfishness, with the bastard child he had begotten, with herself for being so foolish and so easily manipulated. She felt weak again as darkness began to blot out her vision, and she thought bitterly that maybe this was what she deserved. She had allowed herself to be taken by this man – even allowed herself to love him – and now she was going to die for her stupidity. How poetic it seemed, in a perverse and tragic sort of way. Angry, but utterly hopeless, Rowena resigned herself to her fate. Her eyes began to drift closed. She felt as if her body was slowly sinking.  There was something oddly comforting about it, as if she was back in Roderick's bathtub again, but this time the warm water was swallowing her up until she could no longer hear or see or breathe.  But just as it seemed that death would claim her, bright purple sparks broke through the hazy darkness. Rowena first assumed that they were only a hallucination, the last flickers of her dying mind before it was snuffed out completely. But then her vision began to clear, and she could see distinct, violet-hued patterns of light – like tiny bolts of lightning crackling over her skin. They didn't burn her, but tingled pleasantly, and as they moved over and through her Rowena started to feel stronger. She was struck with the realization that this sensation was familiar. She could recall a dream she had had – years ago, when small pox had struck the village – in which she had fallen ill, but was revived by a strange, sparkling purple light. At least, she had believed it to be a dream at the time, but now she wasn't so certain.

          Growing up she had heard stories about witches – women and men who possessed incredible power to heal and harm and perform all manner of deeds. Mrs. MacInnes had dismissed the stories as “stuff and nonsense.” Mr. MacInnes had called them “heretical.” Still, Rowena had found herself intrigued. The older villagers who told the stories said that these witches were gifted with their talents from birth, but honed them through years of study and practice, often working together in groups called “covens.” The idea had captivated Rowena's imagination. She remembered leading the MacInnes girls in a game of “magical coven” one afternoon at the edge of the woods behind the farmhouse. She grimaced at the recollection, knowing she still had raised, white scars across her back from the lashing she had received when Mr. MacInnes discovered what they were doing. Weeping on her knees in front of Mr. MacInnes and his belt, Rowena had vowed she would be a good Christian girl and never speak, or even think, of witchcraft again. But she had never been able to completely banish the idea from her thoughts. Now, perhaps, she understood why. Perhaps it had been her own dormant magical ability, trying to make itself known to her, trying to make her realize that it had been protecting her all her life so that she would live to see the day when she would be able to harness it.

          After a few moments, Rowena felt strong enough to sit up. She cautiously lifted the newborn from the mattress, careful not to disrupt his meal, and shifted so that she was seated with her back against the wall. Watching her baby closely, Rowena noted that he seemed undisturbed by the energy running through her, even as sparkling purple light reflected off of his cherub face. Rowena's eyes were drawn to her own skin as the purple light seemed to sink down into it, absorbing and disappearing as suddenly as it had arisen. Its job done, her magic (and Rowena felt sure now that it was, indeed, magic) had tucked itself away within her again. But now that she was aware of its presence, Rowena was not going to let such an unbelievable capability go to waste.  Instead, she decided that the best course of action would be to develop her newfound talent. It would take some doing to locate those who would be willing and able to instruct her, but Rowena had suffered too long at the hands of people who wished to use and control her to let a simple thing like that be a deterrence. She craved the power to live the luxurious life she had always wanted and to do away with those who attempted to harm her or interfere. She knew exactly whom she intended to dispose of first.

 

          Rowena looked down at the baby in her arms, blissfully unaware of anything but the sweet comfort of suckling at his mother's breast. “Your father has done horrible things, wee one,” she said, smoothing his fine hair with her fingers. She spoke softly and sweetly, but with an edge of malice. The baby released her nipple and looked up into her face. She gently tapped his tiny button nose with the tip of her finger. “But don't worry,” she continued. She raised her chin defiantly. Her eyes glowed a brilliant violet. “He'll pay for what he's done.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! I can only hope that anyone else finds this conclusion as satisfying as I do. The idea for this story came from the fact that Rowena has both stated herself to be a natural-born witch, and said that there was a point in her life "before magic," which doesn't seem to quite add up. Unless, of course, natural witches need some sort of inciting incident or stressor for their powers to become accessible. Trying to tease out that whole thing (which could be a conscious story choice on the part of the writers, but could just as easily be inconsistent writing or Rowena being a big ole liar) was what sparked the idea that Rowena's ill-fated relationship with Fergus's father might have been the catalyst (or "Impetus," if you will) for not just Rowena's (former) aggressive, power-hungry nature, but also for her discovering her magical abilities in the first place. Thank you to anyone who has been reading, particularly if you have held on through the long stretches of no updates as life got in the way of storytelling! Best wishes as we come to the beginning of the end! -Jo


End file.
